ALT final question of the blaseball team affinity quiz: FOURTEEN, a Theologically Important Number. On the day after we finally defeat the last of the gods, what will you do? 1) Just have the best good time? Do whatever we want? Live a full life without fear? 2) We're gonna have a lot to process. Time to make a lot of art about it. 3) We're gonna have a lot to process. Time to give ourselves over to the healing power of nature. 4) We're gonna have a lot to process. Guess at that point I'll have to figure out some kind of healthy outlet for my emotions? It can wait until then, though. 5) Remind everyone that it was us who did it - yes, OK, it was a group effort yada yada, but we're the ones who really made it happen. 6) Sit astride the usurped thrones of Heaven. Survey your domain. Feel the power pulse within, and exult. 7) That sounds like the kind of question a god would ask. I decline to answer. 8) Uh, is there still going to be blaseball? Does blaseball even make sense without the gods?

ALT small, messy bedroom, mattress on floor, viewed from above. the scene is lit only by the screen of a mobile phone lying in the bed. at the bed's edge sits a figure, head in hands, turned away from the phone. text messages superimposed: "allison. allifon ffs its party time. alli. alli im worried [long pause] at least give the new one a chance'

ALT Was born and raised down in the swamps of sunny Caroline He stole your shoes, stole third and home, he stole your heart and mine He loved his dog, he loved his town, he swore he'd never leave And when the Game returned they made him batter for the Thieves. Oh friends I'm gonna sing a song about the hungry tomb I'm gonna tell the tale of The Last Run of Workman Gloom. The Talkers came from Canada, a hitter for to find They said he had to go up north and leave his dog behind He said, my dog, you cannot go, I beg you do not grieve You must stay back in Charleston and throw curveballs for the Thieves. Come Season Six the Talkers hatched a plan to raise the dead But Workman's heart was troubled with a dark and nameless dread He said, what fire has put apart can never more be whole: O steal a sock, o steal a shoe: don't ever steal a soul.

ALT The dead girl rises from the Hall, the devil makes the deal The Tiger says you can't look back, the Doctor says she'll heal But friends I beg you never try to rob the hungry grave: There's gonna be a dozen dead for every one you save. Oh friends I'm gonna tell you all how demons walk at noon: The thing that waits upon the mound, it waits for Workman Gloom. The dead girl walks upon the earth, she leaves a trail of dead The dead girl walks to Halifax, her awful curse to spread They played for sixteen innings with the score at six runs all And in the sixteenth inning Workman Gloom was struck by ball. They played for nineteen innings in a storm of bleeding rain And when the dreadful day was done the Talkers fell in shame; But Workman lifted up his bat and Workman he stood tall, Said, man that's born is bound to die: until then we play ball. Oh friends I'm gonna sing a song of how we face our doom: A tale of awful sorrow, The Last Run of Workman Gloom.

ALT The Talkers went to Yellowstone out where the sagebrush grows The midday sky was dark above, it must be dark below; And Workman looked about him as the geysers boiled and blew Said, now I seen the face of Hell: and it talks moistly too. It was the bottom of the fourth, the score stood one to one And Workman saw the umpire smile and knew his time was come He felt the curse upon him, and he spat upon his hands, And Workman said, if I go out, I'm swinging for the stands. Oh friends I'm gonna sing a song of how we face our doom: A tale of how a dead man runs: the Run of Workman Gloom.

ALT No time for balls, no time for strikes, just one thing left to do Rodriguez pitched a fastball and it flew in straight and true He gripped the bat, he made the swing, he trusted in his aim And as the wood met leather Workman Gloom burst into flame. At first the fire comes to his knee; at second to his waist At third the fire forms a shroud that covers Workman's face; Farewell my dog, farewell my team, and all I've ever known; And fire was all was left of him as he slid into home. Oh friends I beg you never try to rob the hungry grave: There's gonna be a dozen dead for every one you save, But here's a name that lives in flame beyond the hungry tomb: The bravest man to ever die: his name was Workman Gloom.

ALT a red-eyed vireo, high in treetops, looks down on clueless birdwatcher with camera and smartphone. vireo speech bubble: 'skill issue lol'